“Why, I know that!”
“Also, two of the outlaws were riding strawberry roans,” Longarm continued. “I saw those horses when they mounted up and rode away from the train. That was a big mistake on their part. They should have kept their horses way back in the trees where they couldn’t be seen. I expect they figured everyone they’d robbed would be too agitated to notice the color of their horses. Outlaws are often very taken, even vain about their horses … sort of like young men who have fancy guns and wax the tips of their mustaches.”
Quaid’s cheeks flushed red with anger. “Gawdammit, Marshal Long, I-“
“Save it!” Walker snapped. “Custis, what else did you notice about that gang?”
“Well,” Longarm said, “they were all wearing masks, but the one that took my gun and watch had a very fine pair of dress boots. One of his pants legs had caught on the top of the boot, and I was able to notice that it was tooled with an eagle.”
“So what are you going to do?” Quaid asked sarcastically, “go around pulling up pants legs?”
“No,” Longarm replied, “but I’ll recognize those boots when I see them again.”
“Anything else?” Walker asked.
“A few small things,” Longarm said, dismounting and gazing up through the trees. “Marshal Walker, have you ever chased this gang this far into the Sierras?”
“No. And why do you ask?”
“It would be easy to ambush us in this heavy timber, and they’d have all the advantage of surprise, superior numbers, and the high ground. I expect that at least a few of them are marksmen.”
“They wouldn’t bother with that!” Quaid scoffed. “Hell, by now they’re ten or twenty miles away.”
“If you feel so certain of that, then why don’t you ride in the front?” Longarm offered.
Quaid was trapped. “Why, sure! I’m not afraid of any ambush.”
“I’m the marshal,” Walker said. “I should go first.”
“No,” Longarm told the man. “Let your deputy prove his point.”
Quaid spurred his horse around them and took the lead. “If we catch them,” he called back, “you had better believe I’ll tell the folks back in Auburn who led this posse and who held back because they were so damned afraid!”
“Just follow their tracks,” Longarm ordered. “You’ll be able to pick that special bar-shoe out wherever the dirt is soft. Fortunately, its rider is a follower rather than a leader.”
Deputy Quaid wasn’t happy taking the lead, and the four remaining posse members were looking extremely nervous as they continued to follow the tracks along a river that wound through heavy stands of ponderosa pine.
Longarm rode behind Marshal Walker. His internal warning system was telling him that the train robbers were somewhere up ahead, probably watching their approach down the sights of their rifles. They’d been so cocky during their robbery that Longarm figured they were more than confident of their ability to wipe out a few unsuspecting posse members. They had good reason to be confident because they could empty two or three saddles in a single opening volley.
“Hold up!” Longarm called a few miles later as he reined his buckskin off the trail and into the cover of trees.
“What the hell is the matter now!” Quaid groused as he twisted around in his saddle.
“Quaid, do you see those high rocks about a hundred yards up the trail?”
“Sure, but …”
“They would give the gang we’re following an excellent field of fire,” Longarm said, dismounting and tying his horse behind some pine trees out of harm’s way. “If I were an outlaw laying a trap, that’s where I’d be hiding. You’ll notice too that the forest widens away from the trail giving them enough time to unleash at least two or three shots at each of us before we could reach cover.”
“You’re just losing your damned nerve!” Quaid spat.
“No,” Longarm said, “but I’m not about to offer myself up as an easy target.”
“Damned if I’m scared!” Quaid spat, angrily spurring his horse up the trail. “Quaid!” the marshal shouted. “Come back here!”
“He’s got more nerve than good sense,” Longarm said. “There’s no stopping him now.”
They watched as the deputy pushed his mount hard toward the rocks. Two or three times Quaid glanced back, but he kept his horse going until he reached, then disappeared into the rocks.
“Well,” one of the merchants who had joined the posse said, “I guess maybe Quaid just made us all look foolish.”
“Maybe,” Longarm said, still hearing that inner alarm in his head. “But I’m still going to leave my horse tied here and go ahead on foot.”
“Now Marshal Long,” Walker said, “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”
“It is for me,” Longarm replied. “And I suggest you and these good posse members just hunker down and wait right here until you see me up in those rocks waving that it’s safe for you to come on ahead.”
Walker looked at his small and inexperienced posse. A couple of them nodded to indicate that they much preferred to err on the side of caution.
“All right, Custis,” Walker decided. “We’ll give you fifteen minutes. No more. We can’t keep doing this or we’ll never overtake that gang.”
“Agreed,” Longarm said, dragging his rifle from its saddle boot, levering a fresh shell into its chamber, and then disappearing into the heavy forest.
Longarm was in good condition. Most men would have quickly been sucking for oxygen, but he was well accustomed to thin air because he lived in Denver. So Longarm worked his way up through the trees that flanked the trail Quaid had followed until he was almost to the jumble of broken rocks that formed a natural ambush.
Longarm practically stumbled into one of the train robbers. The outlaw had gone off a little ways to be alone, and now he was squatting down next to a pine tree, pants around his ankles as he took a dump on the pine needles. When he saw Longarm appear, he jumped up and tried to made a stab for his rifle leaning against the tree. Longarm swung the barrel of his own rifle in a tight arc that struck the outlaw just over his right ear. The man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.
Longarm hadn’t meant to kill the outlaw, but that was exactly what had happened. He’d swung so hard that he’d crushed the train robber’s skull. Removing a pistol from the dead man and jamming it into his coat, Longarm crept ahead, every nerve tingling. A few minutes later, he nearly stumbled over Deputy Quaid’s body, which was lying facedown with a Bowie knife buried between his shoulder blades. The deputy’s horse was gone, probably taken by the outlaws.
Longarm took a few moments to size up the opposition. How many ambushers had been left behind? That was the question. Maybe the whole gang was hidden in these rocks. Longarm figured that there was only one way to find out and that was to proceed with extreme caution.
It took him five minutes to circle around behind the ambushers. He counted just two more outlaws, both well hidden and with their rifles aimed down their back trail.
“I wonder what the hell happened to Milo,” one of the ambushers complained, glancing off toward the trees. “He must have had the damned trots to take so long.”
“He’s always had gas and a sour stomach,” the other ambusher replied. “Hell, Slim, I can smell Milo better’n a mile away.”
“Are you sure you saw that posse way down below?” Slim asked, peering down the mountain.
“I think so. Least, I saw something moving up our back trail.”
“Then it could have been a deer, a bear, or any other damned thing,” Slim complained. “I don’t much like waiting here while the boys push on ahead to the hideout.”
“The boss said to wait until sundown in case we was followed. He said that there’d be whiskey to go with tonight’s supper when we rode in late.”